


My Immortal Stepmother

by aislingyngaio



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-19 23:28:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2406815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aislingyngaio/pseuds/aislingyngaio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Percy and Amphitrite meet again after the Battle of Manhattan and form a bond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Immortal Stepmother

In her defence, Amphitrite didn't _hate me_ , hate me.

To be more specific, she doesn't hate the circumstances of my birth, to put it delicately, when we first met. That was unfortunately the whole "child of the Big Three, hero of the Great Prophecy" shebang, and oh yeah, “Atlantis was being attacked by Oceanus” combo package deal. Just a regular day in the eternal family drama of the Greek gods, so to speak.

Or maybe I’m just too used to stories of Hera's rage to recall that it is part of her goddess of marriage aspect, something that was Hera and Hera alone.

Naturally, when I met her again after the Manhattan battle, l was utterly shocked by how... well... _pleasant_ she was (Amphitrite, naturally, not Hera. _Never_ Hera). Still is in fact. Not many other gods can say the same.

I was down in the sea, answering yet another call for help from the hippocampi and wondering if Blackjack will eventually take it into his head to charge me for relaying these requests from Poseidon's domain (which is utterly unfair, by the way, though I get that there aren't any donut shops below the water) when I saw her nearby. Amphitrite paused in the middle of gathering coral and seaweed with some other ladies (who later turned out to be her sisters, the Nereids), and I wondered for a moment if she was going to object to my presence in these underwater affairs.

(Pro-tip: when an immortal is unhappy with you, be afraid. Be _very_ afraid.)

"Percy Jackson?"

"Umm... Yes ma'am." Even in the water, I could feel my palms starting to sweat. How exactly does one open the conversation with one’s… immortal stepmother? "Umm... how... how are you doing,  ma'am?"

She raised a brow, and I tried to calm my racing heart . "Wondering why you would risk curfew time and time again to come here, young half-blood. I would have thought Dion-" she stopped at my alarmed expression - no way would I ever risk being exposed as curfew breaker to Mr. D, not after he allowed Tantalus to exile me when I was twelve - and actually rolled her eyes in the direction of the Camp before amending, " _Mr. D_ enforced curfew strictly."

I tried not to look nervously at the hippocampi swimming around their rescued brethren and not giving me an ounce of help on how to tread the murky waters of ocean politics (before remembering that they won’t be able to anyway, since they aren't political themselves). “Well, I… that is… ah… they asked me to,” I finally answered, and cringed at its lameness. The truth is, curfew-breaking aside (what can I say? Being a hero means living a dangerous life after all!), I love returning to the sea. Probably a son of Poseidon thing, but I really love snatching these few moments in time - where I’d at least have a half-legit excuse for being out of bed if I’m caught - of being in the water, surrounded by aquatic life whom are happy to see me. Much more preferable than the four years of near constant monster battles above ground.

Maybe Amphitrite can read my mind (though that is a scary, scary thought), or maybe she read it all over my face, because suddenly she smiled, and I finally relaxed for the first time. Her smile is kind and warm, and reminds me a lot of Hestia’s hearth. There were no traces of slyness or cunning or manipulation. Amphitrite is a rare amongst immortals - one who doesn't look at me as someone to send on errands, or who wants something dangerous from demigods like me.

“Helpful little hero, aren’t you?” she replied pleasantly. “Well, you might as well come along, Percy Jackson.” And before I realized what has happened, she stuffed her basket into my arms, then turned and sent one of the hippocampi up to Blackjack with a message back to Chiron at Camp, then introduced me to her sisters. I was a bit awestruck, to be honest, and not a little relieved that I’m still alive in one piece. We then swim-strolled our way to--

Hey, this is actually familiar territory to me, for all that I’ve only been here once before.

“Are we going to--?” I asked when I saw the sunken ship, one of the landmarks that leads to my dad’s palace.

 _Old_ palace, I should say, since… well, since it was destroyed. Oops.

“Indeed. We are going home.” Before I could squirm, wondering if she knew whom had persuaded Poseidon to abandon Atlantis in favour of battling Typhon (me), she patted the basket in my hands and continued, “These shall look lovely in the throne room, I think.”

Amphitrite, as I found out that day, isn’t loud. She isn’t vain or excessive or even as chatty as a few of her Nereid sisters. Even so, she is quite expressive in her own quiet way, especially when she isn’t carrying around her battle readiness, looking as if she’d skewer someone if they so much as look at her the wrong way. Her calmness that day did nothing to mask her excitement at her first major renovation project in… well… _ever_.

“I wasn’t Poseidon’s queen when the palace was first built,” she later told me while adding the fresh seaweed into a long garland being weaved for one of the palace walls, “and over the millennia it never felt quite right to make any major changes. But now that we’re starting from scratch, I think changing some things up should be interesting. Not to mention getting rid of that mancave of a gaming room!”

I almost choked over the cookie I was chewing, remembering how irritated Dad had been when he complained that the gaming room that has taken six hundred years to finish was going to be one of the casualties of him switching battles. Thank goodness Amphitrite mistook my amusement for concurrence, and sighed feelingly, “I blame Dionysus and Hermes equally for it, honestly. And ever since Hermes invented the internet…”

Mindful of my audience, I merely made appropriate, non-committal noises and took another cookie from the plate she has offered to me.

I didn’t see Dad that day, or Tyson or even Triton. Apparently they were still “mopping up” from the last Battle, just in case the sea isn’t quite as calm as it seemed to be. It was still a fun day, though. The hippocampi are vastly social creatures, and, since I had a few hours with them, tugged me _everywhere_ once Amphitrite gave her permission. I met the dolphin army and the sharks, the whales and even one very mischievous puffer fish. I couldn’t help but feel relieved that the thick tension of war prominent during my last visit is gone, and though the palace was no more than a very basic structure of abalone walls, still in the midst of rebuilding, Atlantis is happy.

It is also staggering to realize that I can belong here, if I want. Thanks to Amphitrite’s acceptance, I am no longer viewed as a demigod interloper, snubbed by the queen of Atlantis and tolerated solely for being Poseidon’s son. I don’t have to wonder anymore whether or not I had a right to visit my father’s kingdom, or be jealous that Tyson and even Briares got to visit it, live in it, before I ever set eyes on it. Maybe one day I’d even be able to get to know Triton (though I won’t be showing him _The Little Mermaid_ any time soon, just in case he tries to flood Disney studios for whatever misrepresentation present in the cartoon).

Amphitrite sent for me near dusk, as I wasn’t able to tell the time in the ocean depths and, to be honest, had quite forgotten about it in the excitement of my first undersea half-holiday. I swam to meet her with my hippocampi friends-slash-escort at what would soon be the palace entrance hall. There, she gave me a package of her own cookies (“I notice you enjoying them, young Percy. Just don’t eat them all at once.”), and something wrapped in linen.

I unwrapped it curiously to find a red coral nestled within, shiny and beautiful, and instantly thought of Annabeth.

Amphitrite looked slightly sad at me when I raised my head to thank her for the gifts. “Tread carefully, Percy,” she said, to my utter confusion. “We know of your affection for the daughter of Athena,” I had to fight to control my blush - did _everybody_ know already? - “and while my lord husband has mellowed over the millennia on the subject of their rivalry, crossing Athena is a dangerous game you must always play if you, a son of Poseidon, is determined to court one of Athena’s daughters.”

I could do nothing but agree, finally understanding the source of Amphitrite’s dire tone. I can still remember all too well how final Athena’s last, flaming warning at Mount Olympus had been.

We parted at last, Amphitrite smiling her gentle and understanding smile to the very end as she allowed the hippocampi to escort me all the way back to Camp, bearing my precious gifts with me. Once I’ve bidden farewell to them at the shoreline, I hasten to put away the package of cookies at Cabin Three, to look in on Blackjack ( _Hey, boss, you’re alive! Did you bring me a doughnut?_ ), and to present the red coral to Annabeth right before the cabins entered the dining pavilion, whom first loudly threatened to skin me alive if I run off for so long without “proper” notice again, then kissed me for bringing her a present, to the coos and awws of the Aphrodite cabin and the gagging noises of the Athena cabin.

That night before dinner, I gave my usual offering to Poseidon, then added a second piece of brisket into the fire. “Amphitrite,” I murmured, then silently added, _Thanks for today. Thanks for accepting me_.

_\- Finis -_


End file.
